Three Dogs and a Painting
by compass54
Summary: A divorcee painting a beach landscape. A stranger and his young dogs playing on the sand. The story of how a childhood vacation, two mutts, a pedigree pug, an incomplete painting, and an ex-husband all play a part in bringing these two together. A birthday present for Planetblue. E&B AH
1. Chapter 1

_**A divorcee painting a beach landscape. A stranger and his young dogs playing on the sand. The story of how a childhood vacation, two mutts, a pedigree pug, an incomplete painting, and an ex-husband all play a part in bringing these two together. A birthday present for Planetblue**_

_**To one of the nicest, most caring women around. Blue, you have probably the driest sense of humor I've come across and a way with words like no other. After seeing pics you posted of your beach vacation, a plot bunny formed for a birthday story. Then RL intervened, and I had to watch the deadline pass. Some of that real life is in here, but the best part has been finding a happy place in writing when everything was scary and stressful and imploding around me. So thanks, Blue, for giving me this, as much as I give this to you.**_

_**Thank you especially, Hadley Hemingway, for your help and encouragement to write a little more.**_

_**~ xxx ~**_

**Chapter 1**

I love fall. I love the way it brings a new kind of visitor to my beach. They come with a yearning, a need to soak in one more day of heat and wring a last memory from the season before they return to ordinary lives.

The summer families have already taken their children and laughter with them. The laughter probably turned into whining on the way back home and the vacation is surely forgotten by now with new uniforms, books, friendships and weekly activities filling their lives.

Hot days are already scant during September. Soon, it will be too cold to run with abandon into the waves, wearing as little as possible. It starts off with having to make a decision to dive under. The towel, lying up on the sand, suddenly needs to double as a blanket.

After a whole year of seasons here now, I can pick the time of year by the color range in the day. I've painted enough versions of this view to know which hues I need to match the sky, the sea, the grass, and the sand. The wood in the pathways to the beach I can tweak with a little more yellow in summer, but blue always comes directly from the tube, whether it's a cerulean, cobalt, sapphire, ultramarine, or one of fifty others. It's difficult to mix the truest of colors, the most prevalent on the planet.

It's the last color you lose as you descend into the depths of the ocean, when the water has refracted all the yellows and reds. Even the greens go as you sink lower, so blue is obviously the strongest color, the last one remaining.

These days, I have little use for the warmer parts of the spectrum in my daily life. Gone is the yellow I used to put in my hair, the gold of the jewelry my ex-husband gave me, and the red of a dress or a lipstick. I mainly wear blue or tones of it. Jeans are my dress du jour and, since I wash everything together, even my whites have a tinge of that singular color.

Why _is_ blue so remarkable? I always begin a new painting with a smear of my favorite indigo somewhere at the top. It may sit below a bank of clouds some days, but it's always the place I start. Then I sit back and see where it leads me, whether I'll have to paint it out or let it stay. It gives me a point of focus, a comparison.

The indigo sky is my absolute favorite, the one I see in front of me on this canvas today. Its vibrancy will fade as winter approaches. I must make a note to order some more tubes of grays.

Next to me, my baby boy speaks and I look up. He's noticed a new person emerge from a pathway built to protect the grass stabilizing the sand dunes. Two dogs, their breed unknown, accompany him, and it's obvious that they share great affection. He lets them off their leads and they run back and forth, jumping around him, barking for his approval to race down the beach. He throws a stick, and then another, following them almost to the edge of the water. As they return their finds to him, he takes the pieces of wood and tosses them a short distance into the waves. Both dogs retrieve their prizes and return to him, excited for more. It's not the stick they want; it's the attention and trust, knowing he'll be there to throw it again. He's the important part of their game. I wonder if he knows it.

It's strange how the pug standing to attention on the chair next to me isn't growling. He doesn't bark at strangers; he's just possessive of our territory and me. Maybe he senses the love in front of us. Anyway, they are no threat to him.

The man turns around and shields his eyes from the late afternoon sun. It's not a cursory glance. He's assessing something, looking from one end of the beach to the other, and then he's gazing directly toward me. At this time of day, he can't see me clearly through the insect screens, not like I can see out. He's probably imagining what it's like to actually live here. So many people turn back with the same look.

The dogs distract him and he messes with their fur, and signals something. They take off and I see him smile as he watches them. I realize I'm smiling myself.

Looking back at the painting, I wonder why this particular canvas filled itself so quickly, why some are effortless and others hard work. I capture the stranger and his two dogs with a few brush strokes, only needing to suggest them to record that they were there. It's the perfect final touch that will make this one sell.

Between the local gallery and the one in New York, I've been very lucky. The income was unexpected, only because I never thought to seek one for myself.

The canvas has to go inside before it's salt-encrusted and spoiled. Tiger still stands on his chair, enthusiastically watching as the three of them play in front of us. I wish he could understand that they won't stay here long, not at this time of the year. The man is probably just stretching their legs on the way to where he's really going.

I sigh and call Tiger inside where he takes up residence on the couch, keeping his eyes on me. He's so incredible, the truest friend I've ever had.

"How come you're such a beautiful boy?" I say, kissing his forehead and squeezing his face. He pants at me, showing me with his huge wide eyes that he loves me back.

Gorgeous. Adorable. Smart. Generous. Trustworthy. Perfect.

The next morning, I'm at the local store, with a long order of paint tubes, when the man I saw on the beach walks in and hovers around the back of the aisles. I can identify with the body language - trying to look like you're browsing when you're really waiting. A year ago, I was exactly like him, not wanting anyone to know who I was or why I was here. A quick sale was all I was after, cashing in the only asset I actually chose, the one he bequeathed to me in the divorce. We never once used it, leaving tenants in place to pay it off for us. There was no time to have a proper vacation anyway, when his priority was the next case or the one that was dragging on longer than expected. In the end, I realized they were excuses.

After spending a week here, I knew I never could sell it.

Letting myself relax and enjoy a life where I was important, I found fewer distractions and more inspiration. When one painting sold, it was still a hobby. After ten sales and a commission request, I began to feel like a real artist, having been plucked from the world of art as a fiancée and then made into a domestic partner where other matters became more pressing. There were staff to supervise, functions and committees to organize. Somewhere along the line, I lost myself, trying to be everything to everyone, and my husband forgot the girl he'd married.

Settling in here, I stopped blaming myself for what happened. With the fighting and recrimination behind me, I see the end was a breakdown of communication.

I said he never stopped working and left everything else to me, abandoning me emotionally. He said he never asked me to oversee all the details, that I could have paid people to make my life easy, like everyone else's spouse.

Couldn't he understand that these were _our_ dinners, _our_ charity banquets, and I needed everything to be perfect? Couldn't I understand that he was sick of trying to make me happy?

We kept smiling in public, while fighting at home, until the day he walked in and handed me a divorce petition, telling me there was someone else.

Publicly, he gave me the beach house, which I had valued at 1.7 million, and a monthly allowance. Privately, he offered me a deal - another quarter of a million if I agreed to tell everyone I left him, keep my mouth shut about the girl, and let him go in peace. I'd get the money once he was married and he'd sue me if I ever told anyone. Having seen him decimate the opposition in a courtroom, I knew beating him legally was impossible, so I decided to trust he would pay me and keep my end of the deal.

The man is now standing behind me as I lean on the counter with my order of paints. Mike is on the phone, making sure they'll honor the free delivery for me. I find this method of purchase preferable to ordering on the internet because Mike takes some of the responsibility and I always get exactly what I want.

Turning around, I almost tell the man to jump in front of me, since I'm holding things up, when I see his eyes for a split second. They're gray and beautiful. He instantly looks down, using his baseball cap as a shield, hiding what must be his best feature, and I wonder why.

He's juggling a loaf of bread, eggs and margarine. As Mike finishes his call, the man looks up tentatively and I motion for him to go ahead. He asks if the store has chicken wings. The wings are no doubt for the dogs because I have the same thing in my freezer for mine. "Kibble and bones," the vet has instructed me, knowing I want my baby around for a long time. I could easily direct the man to where he can find them, but choose to let Mike do his job.

"You own the pug?" the man asks, as Mike moves to the fridge.

I glance outside at the play date my baby is having with his two. Tiger's curly tail is about to wag itself right off.

"Yes." I already know that the people who come down here to discredit my ex-husband come in every shape and size. After a year, I'm still wary of strangers asking even the most innocent unsolicited questions.

He nods and hands cash over to Mike, thanking him and leaving, ignoring me.

The next day, I decide to walk to the pub for an early lunch. The shrimp are still on the menu and they're always good. I see the two dogs tied up and waiting outside so the man is obviously here. They lift their heads when I pass them, as if asking where my friend is. "Sorry, kids, I left him at home."

"Morning to ya." The Irish owner is working the bar this morning. Business must be slow. "White wine?"

I smile at his attempt to anticipate what I'm about to order. In my past life, I would have slapped him with a clever quip for such impertinence, but he's just trying to be welcoming, so I shake my head and answer, "Pear martini, please."

Quickly losing interest in his performance with the stainless steel shaker, I look around the pub and see that it's empty, except for the man who is sitting in the back corner texting. He's wearing the cap again, looking down.

"Fish and chips?" His head pops up at the sound of his order. They've packed it to go.

"Cheers." After a tiny nod of recognition my way, he leaves with his white plastic bag and his dogs.

When I return to my house, his dogs are at my front door and there's no sign of him. "Hey, hey, hey!" I call out to stop the three of them scratching a hole in the door to get at each other.

He appears, out of breath, his shoulders dropping in relief when he catches sight of them.

"Sorry, they got away from me." He exhales one big breath and smiles down at them, attaching their leads. "I think they like your dog."

"Dog?" I ask, trying to show I'm not annoyed. "He's not a dog. He's just disguised as one."

For the first time, the man looks up and appraises me. His eyes are even more beautiful than I remember and the gray has taken on some blue today, perhaps reflecting the sky. I wonder at his age. He's definitely younger than I am, maybe a lot younger. He coughs out a laugh at my stupid joke, heading off after apologizing again.

I hear the whimper from the patio and I agree. It would have been nice if they had stayed to talk for a little while. I have to use my foot to stop Tiger from bolting out the door as I enter.

"No, you don't. I know you want to play. Next time, baby." He sits and looks up at me, giving me his "why?" face, so I scratch his favorite spot above his tail. Turning and catching the last sight of them, I'm starting to ask the same thing myself. Why is this man still here alone? Has he rented somewhere?

He fills my thoughts that night. I can't stop thinking about what was going through his head when he turned and looked back at the beach properties. Just as vacationers dream about what it's like to live permanently near the sand, I watch them and wonder about the lives they go back to. I recognize his behavior, suggesting he's hiding something or hiding from someone. He's well-mannered, but he won't engage. Throwing the two friendly dogs into the mix makes him even more interesting.

The next morning, I'm up well before sunrise, and it's so black and calm out there that I have coffee on the patio. Feeling confident after the ease of my last painting, I bring out the dreaded canvas and let it sit in front of me, the dark ocean and sky that continues to torment. It needs a sunrise to bring it to life, but I'm unable to slide red into its horizon, and I'm still not sure why. Mixing black with red and filling the paintbrush, I almost make it this time when my hand starts to shake.

I should throw this damn thing away and rid myself of it. After months of studying it without inspiration, I know I need to stop wasting my time and move on. Instead, the painting has become a symbol, a stubborn hurdle to overcome. Its unfinished existence reminds me that, instead of feeling free and fulfilled, all I am is alone. It's not that I ache to go back to my previous life, but I shouldn't be spending the night wondering whether a stranger is staying in one of the huge rentals by himself, maybe feeling the same.

Cleaning the brush, I take the canvas back inside. I won't be starting anything new today. I have a wedding invitation to respond to and I'm going to post it formally, correctly.

* * *

><p>Tiger is dreaming on the couch. He yips so softly, only I would recognize the sound. On our walk back from the post office, I felt good about my decision to hold my head high and attend the wedding. Now, after a nap, I'm not so sure I've done the right thing. The questions people might ask when they've been drinking are making me nervous because that money can't slip through my fingers by breaking a stupid agreement.<p>

He won't win this one. He's going to pay dearly for my silence and I want to see him put the check in my hand.

"Come on, baby boy. Let's go to the beach." Tiger perks up instantly, panting and speaking excitedly, like I never take him anywhere. A couple of circuits of the living room later, he presents his leash to me. Laughing, I clip it to his collar and he pulls to get out the door. "Okay, okay, mister! Just let me get the keys."

As soon as we're down on the sand, I look for any sign of the man and his dogs, guessing it's about the same time of the day I first saw them. With a sigh, I realize they've probably already left and gone back to their world. We head north along the beach and I wave to a few neighbors, enjoying their pre-dinner tipple on their patios. Mostly wealthy retirees, they've been nice enough to welcome me into their small community, respecting my privacy by not asking questions. We don't socialize apart from small talk on the beach or in one of the local stores, where they proudly exult their children's latest achievements as if I know them.

I am a very good listener. I just don't give much back.

The next morning, the sound of claws tapping on wood and excited dog sounds wake me. Tiger is pacing back and forth, sniffing and jumping up on the chairs.

"Go out the back if you want to pee!" I call to him. "You have a doggie door you know." I have to talk to him like a human, because he is. With a yelp, I hear him make a decision and run to slam through his door, but he takes no time out there, coming right back to continue his pacing. Then I hear more sounds and scratching, so I have to investigate.

As I come out, the man startles me, trying to pull his dogs away from the door. He's shocked as well, but then he quickly looks me up and down. I pull at the bottom of the tank top that's not covering enough.

"I am so sorry. I didn't mean to wake you. These two are very determined."

I laugh at him struggling to get their leads on. "Why don't you let them in the side gate? It's fenced off and Tiger can join them there."

"Tiger?" He smirks and I nod my head.

"Let me put something on and I'll make you a coffee while they get to know each other."

His eyes roam over me again and he says, "Okay." Then he takes the dogs up the side and Tiger plows through his door to join them while I go in to find some clothes. After many years of having to look exactly the part, down here I never think about what I throw on. This morning, I take a little time and brush my teeth. When I open the back door, he's waiting.

There's a lot of sniffing of bottoms going on but the wagging tails indicate there won't be a problem. I laugh and tell him to come in, holding the door open. He takes off his hat and runs his hand through his hair, making me almost gasp. I have to hold on to the door as he passes because his hair is the most beautiful dark gold color, almost sun-bleached looking, although he doesn't have much of a tan. Without the hat, he's impressive - tall, broad and slim - totally gorgeous.

"This is nice," he says smoothly, interrupting my ogling enjoyment. "Is it yours?"

"Yes, l've lived here for a year now," I answer, grabbing the box of coffee pods.

"You live here?" His eyebrows shoot up in surprise. "Is your husband away?"

"Divorced." I look away and busy myself, ready for his reaction to the horrid word.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean…"

"No problem. Espresso okay?"

"Sure. Excellent. Thanks." He walks toward the back door, I assume to check on the dogs, while the coffee machine gurgles and steams. "Mind if I latch this door? You don't want them in here. They're covered in sand."

"Good idea," I call back to him. "Milk?"

"Yes please, and a sugar if you have it."

I'm not sure what else to offer him, whether it will seem rude to assume he hasn't had breakfast when I've only just got up. He comes back in and I decide to go with something simpler.

"Cookie?" The look on his face confuses me. "Or...is it too early?"

Maybe I should have offered him fruit. I don't know why I'm over thinking this.

"It's always time for..." he cuts off, mid-sentence, and then looks at the view. I wonder if it's a euphemism for something sexual. Jesus, I've been so sheltered.

"We should sit here and listen for any action out the back." I place the mugs on the table and go back to grab the plate.

"Sure." He takes a sip of the coffee and waits for me. He really is stunning without the hat, sort of elegantly wind-swept. The print on his t-shirt is a back view of Jim Morrison in leather pants, a wild looking belt of medallions slung low on his hips, and a long microphone cord at his feet. He obviously likes rock and I've played nothing but classical since I moved into this house. It goes so well with the view and I find it inspiring.

When I look up into his eyes, I catch him staring at my breasts and he immediately looks down and sits.

"So, a pug called Tiger?"

It's amusing watching him try to diffuse the moment that just passed between us. "Yes. I adore him. He's so human. What are yours?"

He shrugs and smiles back only slightly, his jittery leg betraying his anxiety. "Both from the shelter. I believe the breed is called boisterous."

I laugh at his cute joke. "I like the mix of colors in their coats. I'd like to paint them if they'd stand still."

"Impossible. We'd have to drug them. Are you a painter?"

"I am, and you're in one of my paintings."

He doesn't understand, obviously, so I collect the finished canvas from the back room and show him how he looked to me on the beach.

"Oh, my God, you have serious talent," he says, studying it for a while, and then looks up at me. "Do you sell these? Is that how you afford this house?"

My hackles immediately rise at his impudence but I squash them because he's probably been wondering about me as I have been about him. He's also just pressed my ego button in suggesting my art is good enough to pay for my home. He wouldn't have any idea what a house like this is worth.

"No. I do sell them, but this house is my divorce settlement."

"Ahh," he says, understanding now. "Well, let me buy this one. How much?"

_Watch it young man._ "I don't think you can afford it."

"Try me. How much?"

I appraise the work, wondering if I can shock him into losing the cockiness. "Fifteen hundred."

"Done." He looks at me seriously. Maybe he's testing me. "I'll transfer it now if you have a laptop, or you could deliver it to me…personally."

Now I'm intrigued. I've met his breed many times before, but he doesn't realize the world I've lived in. I could put him in his place before he can ooze another drop of arrogance.

"Where would I be delivering it to?" I ask casually.

"New York."

I cock up an eyebrow. "Oh, that's where I come from." For a moment, I wonder what I've let into my house and then decide I'm being paranoid. He's no reporter.

"Really? My place is in Brooklyn."

"Your parents' place?"

He smirks at me and then narrows his eyes. "No. How old do you think I am?"

Looking him over, enjoying the freedom to do so, I make him wait for my answer.

"You haven't had your cookie, yet."

"I got side-tracked. How old?" He leans forward, melting me with those incredible eyes. They're slightly green inside my house.

Tilting my head, I look at him closely. He's got vacation scruff but it's not what I'd call a full beard. "Twenty-four?"

"Terrible, try harder." He's fixing his lips in place, trying to stop a laugh from bursting forth.

Giggling, I make another wild guess. "Twenty-five?"

"Twenty-eight. I know absolutely I don't look that young." This is good information. He's not that young after all and suddenly I feel terrible for the "your parents' place" comment. "And you?"

"Your turn to guess."

He scratches through his scruff, making me wait for his answer this time.

"Do I need to know? No matter what I say will be wrong."

He's right because if he says thirty-five or older I'll be mortified when I'm only thirty-one. I shake my head and smile at him, offering him a cookie from the plate, which he finally takes and bites into. There's something about him that cuts through my bullshit bitchiness, like it would be impossible to intimidate him. I like him already.

"Well I guess we should be going. I really didn't mean to wake you up," he says, picking up the two mugs.

I put my hand out to take them and stop him from leaving. "You don't have to go. Another coffee?"

"Don't you have to paint or something?"

"Oh God, I have this painting that's killing me. I never want to start something new until I sort it out, but I'm blocked."

"Do you want to show it to me?"

Even the thought of bringing it out is horrendous. It looks more like the underworld every day. "Um… Yeah, why not."

Retrieving it, I lean it against the wall and wait for his reaction. He doesn't seem horrified. He carefully looks at it and says matter-of-factly, "It needs light."

I look at the painting and then at him. "That's the problem. Every time I start to paint the sunrise into it, something holds me back."

"I didn't mean that sort of light. I should have said lights. It's a nighttime scene to me. It needs the moon or a fishing boat on the horizon to shine over the ocean. Then you could bring more detail into the waves and even the sand. What about stars?"

It's so obvious I missed it. Of course, it's still nighttime. I can see exactly what he sees. It's story would emerge without a hint of a sunrise.

"How did you do that when you only looked at it for a minute? I've literally been staring at it for months."

He shrugs and doesn't answer, not knowing what an inspiration he is, and I feel the excitement growing. I throw my arms around his neck, hug him without thinking, and then step back, shocked at my startling behavior.

He smiles and asks, "You got anything else you need an opinion on?" and we both burst into laughter.

"No, but now I'm itching to get started. Would you… Would you like to come back later, for dinner? I'll cook."

He smiles and answers, "Sure," like the sound of a home cooked meal is very appealing.

As soon as he leaves, I give Tiger his chicken wing and unlatch the doggie door. I'm ready to tackle my nemesis with new-found enthusiasm. Two hours later, I look critically at what I've done. It did come to life easily with highlights of gold and gray, hinting at shadows beneath. As I pinpoint the canvas with bright white sparkles, I see I've achieved it by thinking about him, the color of his eyes and his hair. For this particular piece, he's my muse, in every way.

* * *

><p>At six, classical music is softly playing, the house is immaculate and the dinner warming when I hear his voice out the front. A quick glance at the finished painting makes me smile, and it's all meant for him.<p>

"Hey," I say, trying to hide the excitement in my voice as I see him.

"Ahh, my kids want to know if your kid wants to play," he says casually, looking down at his two dogs who are sitting at attention for once.

Very impressed, I laugh, pointing him towards the back gate again. "I'll see you round the back."

"Behave." The sound of him chastising the dogs in frustration makes me giggle. I don't think either of them are much past the puppy stage. I'm still laughing when I open the back door and let him in. He hands me a bag with two bottles of wine, and then leans down to latch the doggie door. "I wasn't sure if you wanted red or white."

"Thank you." I say, taking them from him. "I'm Bella, by the way."

"Yeah?" he asks, looking over my face. "I'm Edward."

_**~ xxx ~**_

_**Three dogs - a chapter for each, Blue. I know you don't like to WIP, so here are the next two.**_


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

Edward looks around the house and spies the painting, walking over to look at it closely. "It's finished already?"

"I think so." I pour us a glass of wine each, quite proud of how it turned out, and while he's staring at it, I can study him closely. He really is beautiful. His nose is very straight and the scruff can't camouflage a chiseled jaw underneath. For a moment, I think of sitting in his lap, shaving him very slowly and then taking tiny random snips from his hair, prolonging a haircut for as long as possible. Shaking my head, I know I should stop fantasizing about him, but it's difficult when he's here in my house.

Handing him a glass, I ask, "You know I used your colors to transform the painting?"

He shrugs. "My colors? I'm not an artist. What does that mean?"

"The gold from your hair and the gray of your eyes are the highlights. Since you made the suggestion, I think it's fitting."

After a sideways glance, he scratches his cheek. "Hmm, well it looks like you've added more blue to me."

Standing next to him, I can see what he means. Because of the glow on the ocean, everything is lighter, and it does appear that the sky and the ocean have taken on a blue tint.

"Well, it's an optical illusion. There is not one drop of blue in that painting."

"Still, it is there. I can see it."

As we stand together, almost touching, I start to feel a tingling sensation. It's like I'm in heat and my body registers his maleness next to me. It's fabulous and awkward.

"Would you like to eat now, Edward? It's ready."

His shoulders drop slightly and he nods, as if he's been dying for this announcement. "It smells great, and I'm starving."

"That's good, but I'm not a very fancy cook. It's chicken."

"I like chicken."

I smile and start to serve my all-time favorite comfort food, one of Mom's specialties. You have to have it with mashed potatoes mixed with a dash of cream and then it's perfect. While Edward watches the steaming stew hit the plate, he licks his bottom lip.

"More?" I ask, and he nods enthusiastically. When I hand him the plate, he smells it and closes his eyes.

Expecting him to devour it, he surprises me by being a refined eater, combining a little mash with the stew on his fork and savoring each mouthful. It's exactly the way Mom taught me to eat it. Then he puts his knife and fork down and smiles at me.

"Thank you for going to all this trouble. I haven't had a home cooked meal for a while. It's delicious."

Great. He's just given me an excuse to ask him about himself.

"Are you on vacation here?" He nods, taking another mouthful. "Where are you staying?"

"Three doors up. I'm rattling around in a huge house but I had to find somewhere pet friendly."

"I don't want to pry but… Why are you on your own?"

He looks to the ceiling, as if he's wary of answering or looking for inspiration, and suddenly I wonder if I really want to know. "I needed to get away."

Swallowing a mouthful, I take a sip of the wine and wait, watching his body language.

"Something happened at work."

As casually as I can, I ask, "What do you do?"

"Traitor," he answers, and eats some more.

"Did you say traitor?" I ask, knowing I've misunderstood.

He shakes his head and swallows. "No, I'm a trader, a stockbroker."

I breathe out very slowly, trying to hide the crushing disappointment I feel. Why did he have to be in that line of work? Now I understand why he seemed arrogant and why he didn't blink over the cost of the painting.

"Something wrong?"

"No." I won't be rude. He's not my boyfriend, nor will he ever be. He's just a nice man who is good company while he's passing through, taking a break from his addiction to making money. The "something" that happened at work will be a mistake or more likely, a crime, so it's best if I ask something else. "You're a long way from home."

"Well, as I said, something happened at work. I was working in the pit, the heart of the madness of the Stock Exchange, when I made a stupid mistake. It was the end of a huge Friday of stressful trading and my concentration slipped. A particular stock was on the rise and we were all watching it, ready for a killing. I had three clients ready and at the perfect moment, I completed the first transaction, but I _bought_ at top dollar instead of selling. In two seconds, I lost the client thirty grand. I almost vomited on my laptop before I could compose myself enough to make the other two sales, but the stock had already lost ground by then.

"It felt like someone was sitting on my chest when I found an office to do some creative tinkering, transferring the money back into the client's account. I contacted him and lied that I'd missed the sale, praying he hadn't been watching his account at the time, and he sacked me, as he should. He won't find out what I actually did.

"I kept trying to ignore the insidious feeling in my chest. The other two accounts…Christ, there would have been hundreds of thousands involved. The pain got worse, just thinking about it, so I called my father. He's a heart surgeon. He met me at the ER for a barrage of tests, which showed nothing more than a panic attack, but he lectured me about managing my stress levels, saying he was worried about me. It was like a wake up call. I knew I'd end up having a heart attack by the time I was forty and for what? Money? I already had enough money. Just the brownstone is worth two million now. I can trade my own stocks on line to give me enough to live on.

"I walked out of there and turned my phone on, realizing I'd completely forgotten that my girlfriend was waiting for me at a restaurant for our anniversary dinner and this dinner was my last chance to salvage our relationship. Her third text was two words, 'IT'S OVER.'"

"A few days later, I rented a pick-up, grabbed the dogs, and took off. Those two mutts have fallen in love with beaches. I've been travelling around, talking to people about small businesses, whether to buy something already in place or start something up from scratch.

"What kind of business?" I ask, intoxicated by his enthusiasm for radical change.

"My first love was music, so I'm thinking a music school or an instrument shop. I like your taste in classical, by the way. It's very relaxing."

He's a constant surprise. "Do you play?"

"Yes. Piano and guitar. I can teach kids out of the shop and have someone manage it for me. I want to be involved but I don't want it to own me. Does that make sense?"

"Yes, it makes perfect sense." He's really starting to impress me. I can't take my eyes off him, every expression, movement and hand gesture suddenly fascinating. Minus the beard, I imagine he's devastating. "Do you always wear the beard?"

I see he's taken aback slightly by the comment. Without being in my head, it's come out of nowhere. I really need a verbal filter.

"You don't like it?"

Short of an appropriate answer, I start to giggle. I've sort of dug myself into a hole.

"What?" He frowns at me, probably thinking I'm a little crazy. I just grin at him, watching the moment he gives up and goes back to finishing the food, tapping his lips softly with the napkin and humming in satisfaction. "So good."

Taking his plate, I tell him the only thing I have for dessert is ice cream and peaches. His eyes sparkle and a huge smile takes over his face. Suddenly, I want to offer him so much more for dessert and my heart is pounding when I reach the kitchen. He follows me and parks himself on a stool, watching as I serve the ice cream with a slight tremor in my hand.

Quietly, he asks me, "So, are you sick of New York?"

"No, I love New York. I had to get away as well. It was uncomfortable after my husband and I split when all our friends were mutual. No one understood why I left him."

"Why _did_ you leave him?"

"I don't discuss that," I say, handing him his dessert.

He puts the bowl down in front of him and says with his head down, "None of my business." Instead of going back to the table, he takes his spoon and starts eating, obviously too well-mannered to push me. However, I do want to talk. He's been so open with me and there are many general things I can discuss.

"Look, he's not a bad person. He's very generous with his money, spoiled me really, but he was married to his job."

"What does he do?"

"Lawyer."

He nods as if this one word explains everything. "You strike me as a kind of thoroughbred, Bella. Where did you go to college? No, let me guess, Brown."

I laugh and shake my head. "No, I don't come from money. I won a scholarship for the art program at Columbia. It was there that we first met, actually. We were selling our paintings for charity and he came with one of his clients to the event, buying both of my paintings. There was definitely an instant attraction between us, but I declined his offer of dinner because I was about to leave for Paris. After a year away, it was as if he was waiting for me when I came home. He swept me off my feet and we were married within six months.

"Personally, I think he chose me so he could say his wife was an artist, like it gave me some credibility when I came from a completely different social status. Unfortunately, at only twenty-two, I became the wife of a socialite lawyer on his way to the top and I didn't have the background required for the job."

"Did you paint?"

"Hardly at all. Everyone was counting on me to create a magnificent home, so we could present ourselves as _the_ couple. We seemed to be constantly entertaining and he had the money, so I employed people to advise me, and soon I was adding zeros to the price of my dresses, going out and spending a small fortune. I know how addictive money can be."

"Yeah, me too."

"I started to crave things like just the two of us going to dinner or a movie when I was alone while he worked until late. That's why I got Tiger as company. He was the cutest puppy."

Edward smiles and nods, probably remembering his life with a new puppy.

"So, being married to Emmett McCarty wasn't all it was cracked up to be."

Suddenly, Edward nearly chokes on his ice cream. "Are you shitting me?"

"Sorry?"

"Emmett McCarty was the client. He's the one who sacked me when I made the mistake that caused the panic attack. He's basically the reason I'm here."

My mouth drops, unable to speak, while I take this in.

Shaking his head slowly, he says, "Eight million people live in New York City. What are the odds?"

"I cannot believe it."

"I've been looking after his stocks for about two years. My sister introduced me to him. She's the interior designer who was working on his new offices at the time and we had dinner with him and a woman. Obviously, it wasn't you. She was a blonde."

Well, that confirms he'd been seeing her on the side for a while. Strangely, I had no ill feelings towards Rosalie. She was a sweet girl who idolized Emmett and she was welcome to him. I did want to warn her though about completely losing herself to his world. "That would have been his PA, Rosalie. He's marrying her in five weeks time. What is your sister's name?"

"Alice."

"Alice Whitlock is your sister?"

"Yes."

"She's done work in my home as well. I mean my old home. She's very talented."

"What is this, six degrees of separation?"

"I don't know, it's beyond incredible."

"Let's keep going with this and see if there's anything else. Where did you grow up?"

"Queens."

"Hmm. We were in North Brooklyn. Who are your parents?"

"My mom is Renee. She was a stay at home mom and my father is a retired cop. His name is Charles Swan."

Edward coughs and says, "As in the former Chief of Police of New York City Charles Swan?"

"Yep, but they don't call it that. He was the Chief of Department."

"Christ. He and my father go way back. He worked the seventy-sixth precinct when we were kids. He used to be at the hospital all the time when Dad worked there."

"That's right, and Dad was the commanding officer for North Brooklyn before the big promotion."

"My dad did his heart surgery. Did you meet him?"

"No, I never met the surgeon. This is too much, Edward."

"So you were Bella Swan. I'm Edward Cullen." We shake hands and laugh together. "This is madness."

After that, we take our wine to the couch and reminisce about growing up in New York and interesting people we knew, finding no more connections, but still astounded that we met on a beach seven hundred miles away. When he leaves, we swap phone numbers, and I want to hug him like a long lost friend. I've had the most wonderful evening, and I don't want him to go.

"You should seriously think about delivering my painting in person, Bella. It's my mom's birthday in three weeks and she will love this because she knows the beach so well. Oh, and you must give me a note so she'll believe it's me in the painting."

I laugh again, my cheeks flushed and overworked from all the smiling and giggling, but what he just said reminds me of something.

Suddenly, his expression changes and he moves my hair over my shoulder. "Or you could tell her yourself. I know my dad would like to meet you." Wondering what he's actually asking, my stomach feels strange, sinking over what I've forgotten. Twelve months have passed since the dinner with my parents, the night before I came down here, when they didn't understand why I had to get away and I told them a pack of half-truths about why I was ending my marriage.

"It's _my_ birthday on Thursday. It actually slipped my mind."

The frown and cute little pout shows he feels sorry for me. "You forgot your own birthday?" he asks, touching my hair again.

"Incredible," I answer, shaking my head.

"Well, if you haven't made plans, we could do something. I'll still be around. Anyway, I owe you a dinner now."

"I'd love that. I had a really good time tonight."

"So did I." He looks at my lips for a moment and then says, "Well, I guess I have to break up the party out back. Thank you for the excellent meal and company."

"My pleasure. Thank you for the wine."

He stands awkwardly for a couple of seconds and then heads out the back door. I hear him talking quietly to the dogs, saying good night to Tiger, and when I hear the side gate close, I go to the front to wave goodbye.

"I still can't believe this. I'll see you later," he says, walking backwards and shaking his head as he leaves. I smile as I watch him go and hear him asking the dogs if they had a good time. He talks to them like humans too.

The following afternoon, I almost bound to the front door when I hear the knock, but it's not Edward. It's a courier with a huge parcel. When I open it, I find the most beautiful hand-made quilt from my parents. Mom has a gift for mixing unusual fabrics together and this one is a masterpiece. I call her immediately and the conversation soon turns to my new acquaintance and our connections.

Dad is on the other phone, as usual, and he relates all his history with Doctor Carlisle Cullen, the man he credits with saving his life when he had his heart attack. He says he often had brag fests with Carlisle about their successful children, so he knows a little about Edward and Alice. When I tell them that Edward has asked me to deliver the painting, Mom jumps on it, saying she misses me, trying to persuade me to come home and stay for a while. She tells me I might need her, that the wedding could be more emotional than I realize. Mom doesn't know that I'm over Emmett, or that I'm only really attending to collect my check.

Then she asks me something I'm not prepared for. "Are you thinking about taking Edward to the wedding?" I had always pictured myself going alone and not staying for very long, but it would be a huge confidence boost, seeing the old crowd with a handsome man on my arm. Imagining him in a tux with a shave, I wonder if he would agree.

The morning of my birthday, Edward arrives early with his two boisterous dogs and a huge bunch of flowers, asking if I'd like a walk on the beach. I'm so happy to see him that I hug him and he kisses me on the lips. It happens so fast that neither of us is prepared for it, clumsily moving back. With my cheeks on fire, I put the flowers in water, get Tiger, and we kick our shoes off to head down the walkway to the sand.

"What did you do yesterday?" I ask, really wondering why I didn't see him.

"I checked out another business."

"Are you going to buy something down here?" _Oh, please say yes._

Unfortunately, he shakes his head. "I can't seem to find a connection with the place. I love this beach but the cities are just cities, you know? Why would I leave my family and my home in New York? I love it there."

_So, he's going back. Great. Happy birthday to me._

I don't know what to say, so I let Tiger off the lead and watch him run into the water. He never goes out far. Edward's two follow, bounding past him, swimming out much farther, until a wave crashes into them. They bark at each other, racing back to stand with Tiger in a couple of inches of water, washing up around their legs. The three of them look like they've called a meeting, standing in the shimmering ocean.

"Do you think they communicate, Edward? I wonder what they'd say," I comment, keeping my eyes on them, fascinated.

"I haven't seen any friction between them, so it's probably just the usual: gourmet bones, the hot bitches in the neighborhood, whose ass smells good lately."

Looking up at him, I find he's deadly serious. Then the corners of his mouth turn up and a chuckle comes out. I crack up and can't stop giggling. He beams at me, pleased I enjoyed his joke, and holds his hand out. "Come on birthday girl, let's walk."

As I take it, I can't help comparing Edward to Emmett, knowing if I was here with my ex-husband, he'd be talking on his cell. As it's turned out, I get to spend my nearly forgotten birthday with a handsome man who, incredibly, has a lot in common with me, especially dogs. Even if he does go back home soon, I'll always have this happy memory.

The dogs charge up ahead of us, dance around each other, and then take off again. They're having the time of their lives without restrictions, and Tiger is way more vocal than usual, enjoying the company. I am too.

"Shit." Edward lets my hand go. "Simon!" He yells at the top of his lungs when the larger dog looks like he's not going to stop. He cups his hands around his mouth and calls again, finally stopping Simon and making him turn, running full tillt back to us. He drops down in the sand, panting with his long tongue hanging out.

"I've never heard you use their names before."

"Simon is the younger of the two, but he turned out bigger than we thought. Simon's not what you'd call smart. He was starved in the womb, looked okay, but he had micro-fractures caused by a severe calcium deficiency. It took six weeks of pills to bring him back to normal, so I'm very careful with his diet. I only give him bones and…"

"Kibble. My vet told me too."

"Yeah, I asked the vet if they'd get bored and he gave me a blank look and said, 'They're dogs,' so I guess they don't care. Simon's lovable, but Fang looks at him sometimes and then at me as if to say, 'This joker's a moron.'"

I start to giggle again, looking at that sensational tongue. "He's gorgeous. So the smaller one is Fang?"

"Yeah, he's missing…" Edward taps a finger up to his teeth at the side. "One of his canines. He was born that way."

"Can he eat okay without it?"

"Doesn't seem to bother him. You know you have the sweetest laugh, Bella. You sound like a little girl."

"Except that I'm thirty-two today."

"Oooo." He wiggles his eyebrows and then wraps an arm around my waist. "I like older women."

Blushing, I push on him and say, "We should be heading back."

He smirks and takes my hand again. "Will you have dinner with me tonight?"

"Yes. Do you want me to suggest somewhere?"

"Uh, I guess I like a woman who takes control," he answers, looking down at his feet.

I hope I haven't hurt his feelings. I stop and pull him back. "I'm sorry, it's just because…"

"I'm kidding. I understand. You live here," he says, leaning very close to me. "Unfortunately." He looks at my lips again before swinging our arms and we continue. The dogs keep a steady pace with us now, not venturing far away. He asks me about Tiger and I confess all the trouble I went to in choosing the right breeder, and establishing the sire and bitch's temperaments first. It probably sounds like I was such a princess.

Edward points out the spot where he thinks their old vacation house was. It's no longer there, replaced by a mansion of concrete and glass.

When we arrive back, he says he has a few calls to make and that he'll pick me up at six. Maybe he registers the disappointment on my face because he pulls on my hand and says, "I want to get something off my chest, Bella. I think your ex-husband was an idiot."

He leans in and I wait for him to kiss me, when he sucks in air through his teeth and pulls back, letting my hand go and leaving once again with his two terrific mutts, scratching his scruff. It doesn't seem like he's teasing me. I just have to figure out why he's holding back.

Once Tiger is clean and toweled dry, we come inside, welcomed by the fragrance from Edward's flowers. I bury my nose in them and smile as I take a good look at the arrangement. Green hydrangeas form a clever framework for two dozen roses in classic autumn colors of yellow, orange, and an almost red. They are a beautiful and thoughtful birthday present for someone he hardly knows and I feel guilty for not gushing over them more. I can't remember even thanking him properly except for the impromptu hug, and it reminds me he kissed me when he merely reacted and wasn't over thinking it.

As I carefully cut each stem on an angle, keeping the ends submerged, I decide it's time to give him some encouragement.

_**~ xxx ~**_


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

At 5:15 I'm excitedly ready too early, wearing my best underwear, heels, a simple black dress with a vibrant pashmina. Eyes are made up and lips moisturized in the hope that he'll kiss me. I dab on a sweet essential oil I found at a local market, and then a light spray of Dolce and Gabbana's "Light Blue." Even though it's no longer summer, I love that its scent evokes vacation, suntan lotion and after sun lotion.

Wrapping the shawl around my shoulders, I wait on the patio. The ocean is beautiful at this time of day, even with the chilled autumn sky. Tiger suddenly races out and jumps up on a chair, aware of something approaching, and then I see Edward out front, hesitant until he notices me. His incredible smile almost blinds me from recognizing what's changed.

He shaved…

The jaw I imagined with its angular splendor is waiting for my teeth. His cheekbones are crying out for the touch of my fingers and my lips. I can't help ogling him outrageously and only manage two words, "Come in."

The energy sizzles through me as he walks past and, when I follow, he's blocking the doorway into the living room. "Happy birthday, Bella," he purrs, sliding his fingers along my neck and concentrating on my lips like before but, this time, we inch toward each other and connect. As his hands glide around my waist, I let my fingers explore his newly smooth face while my tongue acquaints itself with his.

Turning his head, he smiles and pulls me closer, deepening the kiss. A whimper escapes me when my hands run up his chest, and I lose myself in the feeling of his shirt covering muscle. The chambray button down is soft and it happens to be a tint of my favorite color.

He pulls back and asks, "Are you going to push me away again?

He obviously didn't like it on the beach this morning when I pushed on his chest, blushing and embarrassed. He wants assurance that I welcome him. "No," I answer softly, running my thumbs over the fabric.

He smiles and trails his fingers through my hair. "I didn't think you liked the beard."

"Well, you'd be wrong. I like both." I reply, playing with his collar.

"Damn, and I've wanted to kiss you for days, too."

I laugh, and remember what I wanted to say. "The flowers are absolutely stunning and I should have made a bigger deal of them. Thank you, Edward."

He wraps his arms around me and says, "You are very welcome, Bella."

The bark from Tiger startles us. He's standing up with his front paws on Edward's leg. I'm not sure what he wants, but Edward leans down and rubs his back. "They're not coming tonight, buddy. I'm taking your mom out for dinner. It's her night, not yours." With a tiny whine, Tiger drops down as if he understands the words.

"Maybe you should bring them over, Edward."

Edward thinks about it and sighs. "It's only for a couple of hours and I don't want them destroying your back yard. I have some restoration work to do before I check out of the house. Simon's digging holes."

I understand fully how he feels, not wanting to inflict his pet's quirky traits or bad behavior on someone else. Dogs are different out of their normal environment. "Well, we probably should go then. I'll drive."

The trattoria in town has no view of the water. It's on a back street, but it has the best food I've experienced down here. My parents raved about it when I brought them. Edward's hand moves in circles on the small of my back as we wait for someone to greet us. It's very early, so the restaurant is nearly empty. As he leans down to run his nose across my cheek, the owner appears and welcomes me with a smile intended for a repeat customer. Offering us a choice of table, Edward points a finger at a booth in the back corner.

I slide in and Edward joins me on the same side of the table. We stare as if it's the first time we laid eyes on each other.

"I didn't tell you how beautiful you look tonight."

It's been so long since anyone complimented me like that, it brings out emotion I didn't know I was holding. I palm his cheek to thank him and he kisses me. The owner, leaving two glasses of bubbly, interrupts us to announce tonight's specials. I hardly listen. My body is zinging, in contact with this beautiful man, and he takes my hand under the table while he listens appropriately. As soon as the owner disappears, Edward kisses me again, telling me he adores my perfume, that I smell like the sweetest summer. I try, but I can't distinguish a particular scent on him. It's a mixture of fresh soapy smells, combined with whatever he washes his shirt in, a very masculine combination.

We pick up our glasses and he toasts my birthday. Edward surprises me, knowing it's Prosecco and not champagne. I know I have to work on this. I've turned into such a snob that I assume everyone else is a peasant.

I ask Edward how he became a stockbroker. He tells me a love of math and a great deal of research into highly paid careers, sent him to the University of Rochester, where he completed a double major in business and economics for his MBA. He interned at Jeffries, moved to Silver Lake, and then on to GetCo. From his description of the long hours and stress, I wonder how he had a girlfriend at all.

While we talk, we share our dishes of oysters, scallops, stacked crab salad, and incredible baked fish. The food is exceptional and I love watching him experience it for the first time. Edward is relaxed and affectionately touches me throughout the meal, although there is no more kissing once the restaurant fills up.

When I ask if he wants dessert, he studies me for a few seconds, and then says he'd prefer a coffee back at the house. There's only one answer to that.

"Yes."

Hyper-aware of him in the car, he takes my hand when we enter the house and I'm nervous. He bypasses the kitchen, leading me straight to the couch for a searing kiss. I'm soon straddling him, out of my mind with passion and need, starving for physical pleasure, grinding on him and enjoying his lusty breathy sounds. It's been too long since I wanted a man the way I want Edward tonight and I have to communicate that I meant "yes" to everything he wants to give me.

His hands creep under my dress, pulling at my hips and pushing his erection into the heart of my need. He moves his lips to my neck and I call out when he squeezes a breast.

"Let's lose the dress," he whispers in my ear and I comply, pulling it up over my head. "Tell me what you like," he commands, already pulling my bra cups down and attacking my nipples with his teeth and his tongue.

"That…what you're doing now is what I like," I tell him as my eyes close and I push my breast into his mouth.

"Fuck," he moans. "You have no idea how much I want you." He kisses me again and his fingers pull at my nipples as I cry into his mouth.

The bark, so close, brings us out of our sexual frenzy. Tiger's panting as hard as we are. If Edward wasn't a dog person, this would be incredibly embarrassing.

"Does he worry you?" I ask, ready to put Tiger outside.

"You're the only Tiger on my radar right now," he murmurs, reaching around to undo my bra.

There's scuttling sounds and another bark, which make me take notice. "Hang on, something's wrong."

Then we hear a different bark at the side of the house.

"Oh, no, that's Fang. What the hell?"

I climb off and Edward adjusts himself with a worried look in his eyes, leaving immediately through the front door. He doesn't yell at Fang. He merely asks him what he thinks he's doing, roaming around. It makes me smile that he's so patient and kind. I feel ridiculous, waiting here in my panties and bra with exposed nipples, so I slip the dress back on and go out the front with my shawl. As soon as he's back, I'll drag him to bed and we'll start again.

"Simon!" I hear him scream, and I know from the pleading sound in his voice that something is very wrong. I can hear Tiger, beside himself, running out the back and then into the house, slamming through his doggie door each time. After minutes of hearing Edward call, he emerges with Fang on his lead. "He dug a hole under the fence and now he's missing. Where should I search? Where would he go? I can't lose him."

My heart goes out to him. "Don't worry, Edward. I know he'll come back soon. He's a dog. Why don't you let Fang lead the way?"

"That's a good idea." He quickly kisses me goodbye and they leave. "Come on Fang. Simon, where's Simon, buddy? Simon!"

The lonely sound of his voice absorbed by the night air as they go further up the beach makes me feel empty. I can't imagine what Edward must be going through because I've never lost Tiger. A part of me also knows that losing Simon would certainly mean the loss of the carefree Edward I'm falling for and it makes me realize how important he has become to me in a short amount of time. I walk out on the beach and head in the opposite direction, calling to Simon myself. Edward is right. We cannot lose him.

After ten minutes, I decide it's pointless and turn around. As I walk up the path, feeling teary, I see Simon, lying in the grass. When I approach him, he pounces as if he wants to play a game and I beckon him gently, desperately hoping he'll come close enough for me to grab his collar. He circles me and then runs up to my house, where Tiger is barking a welcome. Well, I hope it's a welcome. I start to giggle thinking that Tiger may be complaining he had front row seats for a porn show and that Simon interrupted everything. It's a weird thought to have popped into my brain. It must be the relief of finding him.

Very slowly, I inch up to him and then grab his collar, only to find he smells appalling, like rotting fish. I have an idea where he's been. There's a place on the other side of this headland where people launch their boats and gut their catch. I never go there because it's gross, but quite possibly heaven for dogs that like to roll in stinky stuff. As I walk him up the side, I lay down the law as he goes through the gate. He's not to dig and he has to behave while I call his dad. His long tongue flops out of his mouth and he pants, innocent of the drama he's caused.

I literally have to wash my hands before I can touch my phone. When Edward answers and I tell him I've got Simon, he says, "I love you. I'm coming right back." I know he doesn't mean it _that _way, but it's nice to hear him say it. Now to the task at hand. The longer I leave it, the more stench he'll spread around and, since I have the tub I use for Tiger sometimes, I may as well use it because I am not lifting him into the laundry tub. With two towels and a lead, I head to the garage and take down the plastic tub from its hook. Dad's ingenious invention is coming into its own tonight - the garden hose fitting on my laundry faucet – good for washing cars and dogs with warm water.

Snapping off the short hose I use all the time, I replace it with the long one and find my oatmeal, non-allergenic dog shampoo. Quickly filling the tub, I'm laughing, thinking I probably need something much stronger. Hearing Edward call my name, I yell back that I'm in the garage. As he comes through the gate, I catch the moment when he realizes the state of his dog. "Jesus, Simon, you smell like dead fish. Where have you been? Seriously, you reek, buddy. Bella, I'm going to take him home and wash him." Just then, I open the side door of the garage and tell Edward I already have it covered as I clip the lead onto Simon's collar.

Edward takes him, quite amazed I was prepared to wash his dog, and Simon goes into the tub without much fuss when he realizes it's lovely and warm. Fang sniffs around for a while and then he and Tiger sit down and pant in unison, half interested in watching Simon's strange shampoo in the night. They probably don't understand why we are bothering when they think he smells good.

As I giggle, Edward wants to know what I find so funny and I tell him these three are hilarious together. I love their individual personalities. He leans over and kisses me, but then he ruins everything.

"Unfortunately, you know what this means, Bella. I can't keep them here any more because I won't forgive myself if anything happens. I have to take them home to New York and settle him down because he's getting worse every day."

Shattered, I stand and turn on the hose so Edward can rinse him. I watch them from the laundry, feeling like I'm about to cry.

"And I want you to come with me."

I look into his eyes and see that he's serious, but I haven't got an answer. Knowing I want more with him here is one thing. Going back to New York is another.

"All I'm asking is that you give it a try. Do you miss your family, Bella?"

Sighing, I know he's right. "Yeah, I do. I was only talking to them yesterday. Mom wants me to come home for a while."

"Then come back. Don't you see that our meeting was meant to be? I can't get it out of my head."

"It _is _pretty crazy. If I did, would you come to the wedding with me?"

"Only if it's as your boyfriend. I'm no plus one."

"My boyfriend?"

"Yes, and I want to be wooed properly, starting with another kiss."

I can't help laughing, but then I look at him. He's waiting for me to do something. Even the dogs are sitting patiently all of a sudden. Gazing into his beautiful eyes, I can't think of a reason to say no. They've taken on new color, like a lake of melted snow. I realize that no matter what hue they are, Edward's eyes are my favorite color.

"Absolutely. I think you're wonderful." His arms surround me and we kiss. I melt into his arms, feeling his strength and his lust, just as Simon decides to splatter us as he shakes the excess water of him. We both grab a towel and dry him off, concentrating more on kissing than on him.

Edward goes home for a change of clothes while I shut the three dogs in the garage. We figure it's the only way they'll be safe. When I walk inside, I sniff my arm and realize I smell of Simon's adventure, so I jump in the shower. When Edward arrives back, I'm brushing my teeth in my robe and note that he's showered as well. He takes off his White Stripes t-shirt and tugs at the belt of my robe, touching me softly and sensuously. I start on the buttons of his jeans. He challenges me with an eyebrow as he pulls out a handful of condoms from a pocket and lets the jeans fall to the floor. I don't think he's being presumptuous. He knew I was a sure thing when he brought me home from the restaurant. He peels off his boxers and I touch him, smiling because I love what I see.

We slip into bed and the passion gradually builds again. He takes his time finding my most responsive places, finger fucking me and sucking my tits. I reward him with a screaming orgasm, squeezing his fingers as I pulse around him. Then he starts to fuck me slowly, telling me he wants this to last, but what he's done already has made me so sensitive inside that I start to come again and he has to fight off an approaching orgasm before he can control himself and slow down. When he does come, he's deeply kissing me with my legs tightly wrapped around him. His hands cup my breasts while his fingers squeeze and pull at my nipples. It's like he uses every part of me, pleasuring me as he finds his own release. And this is only our first time. The fantasies explode in my head, imagining the different ways I want him.

This has to be my all time favorite birthday.

The next day, Edward moves in because the dogs were settled and quiet during the night. We start packing boxes and the two paintings, closing the house down for winter. For some reason, Simon doesn't dig at my place, so we can relax enough to make love whenever we want. He's still challenging, though. Whenever either of us cries out in the throes of orgasm, he starts barking, wanting to know what the hell he's missing out on. We figure the other two will send him a message eventually.

Early Sunday morning, with three dogs in the back of the pick-up, we're driving home to New York.

We talk about coming back as soon as it's warm and I really believe that he means it. He loves the idea of having a place of our own where we can escape, and our beach will always be special to us.

Edward plays the Doors. He has every track they ever recorded and their music becomes the soundtrack for our long days ahead driving, stopping often for the dogs. We sing along together to "Light My Fire" and "Love Her Madly." He's amazed that I visited Jim Morrison's grave in Paris and tells me I have to take him there one day. He knows all the words to "Peace Frog." He dances in his seat to "The Changeling" as we take the road into Virginia Beach where Edward has booked us into The Residence Inn, right on the beach, a very pet friendly hotel he stayed at during his road trip south. We waste no time getting out for a walk on the sand and immediately hear music. We've arrived at the end of the weekend's Neptune Festival and live bands are playing on the boardwalk. The place is still crawling with people, so we just enjoy it from the beach and decide to stay an extra night to have a look around and give the dogs a good break before another big day on the road. It also gives me a chance to speak to a few art gallery owners about selling my work.

Back in the car again, heading north, "The Ghost Song" is playing and Edward talks about discovering the song in high school, playing it a hundred times, losing himself in the theatrics Jim Morrison created without singing a single note. Apparently, Edward is disappointed he can't sing. I'm amazed because I think his voice is fine. He's enchanted with "Love Street." He says "L.A. Woman" is, in his opinion, the anthem for the late sixties, and he tells me "The End" is his favorite song to fuck to. As we drive through the outskirts of Philadelphia, I fall asleep to "Riders On The Storm" and dream of stormy skies above the beach we left behind.

We're exhausted when we pull up in front of his brownstone. I settle the dogs in and then begin to explore my new home. It's magnificent and surprisingly familiar. Alice Whitlock's work is unmistakable.

We meet some of Edward's friends and have dinner with Alice and her husband, Jasper. Alice is astounded that I'm living with her brother now. We spend time with both sets of parents. Edward's mother, Esme, loves the painting, as he said she would, and it's a great beginning to have something in common with her. My mother adores Edward and tells me I seem happier than I have in years. We sort through my glamorous wardrobe together to choose a dress for the wedding, agreeing that these dresses must be sold now. Originally, I was going to wear black but now, I pick a silvery blue dress I've never even worn. Thankfully, it still fits, probably because of all the walking on the beach.

It's easy to settle back into life in New York, like I never left. Edward rents a small shop within walking distance of the house and we both spend time there as the instruments arrive. He employs a musician to manage the store and, between them, they begin the process of advertising for students.

Every morning early, we take the dogs for a walk and get coffee together. Tiger no longer sleeps on the couch. Edward didn't have a problem with it, but the three dogs are now inseparable, and Tiger has chosen to share their giant bed in the laundry.

One of my paintings sells for three thousand dollars. I start work on a new one for the house and, once again, I finish it within days. Somehow, I've hit a very productive period in my life. Maybe it's because I'm so happy. The nighttime painting that initially brought us together hangs on a wall in the house. Edward tells me I should sell it, encouraging me to imagine I'm not losing something, but sharing it with someone else who pays for the privilege. I understand, but I can't part with it because Edward is too wrapped up in its essence.

On the eve of the wedding, Edward arrives with a necklace, saying he wants me wearing something of his. I have fallen so deeply in love with him that I start to cry over the gesture and it takes me a while to convince him that these are tears of joy, not anything to do with my ex-husband's marriage.

That night, I pour all of my emotion into making love to him and it feels like a turning point in our relationship. He tells me over and over that he loves me.

I am a little nervous when we arrive at the wedding, merely nodding at faces I haven't seen in a year. Edward is stunning in his black tux, looking every part of the expensive world I used to live in. Some of my old friends cock their eyebrows at me, wondering who he is.

Emmett appears at the front of the church, handsome and anxious-looking. I wonder if he was like that when we were married at his parent's estate. He gives me a wave and a smile, craning his neck to see who I'm with. Edward squeezes my hand, but I don't feel emotional at all. Emmett's mother turns to glance at me and then speaks to her husband. He doesn't bother to register that I'm here. They were never a big part of our life, so it's not important what they think of me.

When the music begins to play, Rosalie has a flower girl and four bridesmaids, a little over the top I thought for Emmett's second marriage, but it's her day. I hope, for her sake, that this marriage will last and that he doesn't trade her in. She is a beautiful meringue bride with a huge puffy veil and I turn to see Emmett's reaction. The look on his face is so relaxed and happy; it's obvious he's absolutely smitten with her.

The ceremony is religious and very long. Rosalie is from a Croatian background, so maybe her family insisted. Everyone seems relieved at the end as we fan out onto the street. Introducing Edward as my boyfriend is fantastic, making me occasionally giggle when I remember him saying he was no plus one. He's everything to me now.

At the reception, I know everyone at our table and they are all very inquisitive about Edward. He is cool and charming, confidently fitting in. Angela asks how we met, putting her arm through her husband's, and Edward looks down at me, smiling.

"I was on a road trip with my two dogs and I called in for a few days at the beach where we used to vacation when we were kids. I walked into the local store and there was this gorgeous woman leaning over the counter. I figured she was married so I kept my distance. She wasn't very friendly, either, but our dogs got on like a house on fire and every time I'd let mine off the lead, they took off to find their new friend. She took pity on me, inviting me in for coffee, and I found out she was divorced. I couldn't keep away after that."

"What do you do, Edward?" Jessica asks, lips pursed and ready to judge.

"Burned out stockbroker." Every man at the table nods. "Now I'm a music teacher."

Jessica gives me a look that shouts, "You can't be serious."

"That's so romantic," Angela says with a dreamy look in her eyes.

"We have a lot of family stuff in common, too. It's amazing we never met over the years," Edward adds, squeezing my hand. I'm so proud of the way he answered the question that I kiss his cheek.

Catching sight of a nearby table, the "inner circle", the ones who wouldn't take my calls when we split, I notice a few of them looking at me and whispering. I smile back as sweetly as I can, as if I don't know what they're saying. They have no idea what really happened and the money I'm going to receive tonight guarantees I'll keep my mouth shut. I'll never even tell my mother. Edward is well-bred enough not to ask, but I suspect he's already guessed, and I'm not going to lie to him about the money I'm about to receive.

As the bride and groom move around the room, I wonder how much time I'll get with them. This can't be easy for them either when she probably expected me to decline the invitation.

Incredibly, Rosalie has a big hug for me and thanks me for coming, asking about my year on the beach. She even tells me they bought one of my paintings from the gallery in New York for their new place. I'm surprised they've moved into a house, instead of another penthouse apartment, but Rosalie insists she wanted a backyard if they're going to get a dog and have kids.

I look at Emmett and he shrugs. He told me he wasn't ready for children, but he goes along with whatever she says. I hope he's not deceiving her. She asks if we'll have dinner with them after they come back from their honeymoon. They have a favorite restaurant, a tiny Italian place near where they live. Jesus, he takes her out for dinner after they've been together for at least two years. What was wrong with me?

While we continue chatting, Emmett draws Edward into a private conversation and I wonder if they are talking about shares. Edward shakes his head and Emmett claps him on the back as they come back to us.

Then Rosalie asks me to paint something whimsical for the baby's room. I glance at Emmett, who nods and then kisses her. She's already pregnant. The look in his eyes as he gazes at her lovingly strikes at my heart and I know that it wasn't Emmett's long hours or lack of intimacy that was at the heart of our divorce. He just never loved me enough, not like he loves her.

He looks at her the way Edward looks at me. It's like a revelation, something so freeing, knowing I escaped a loveless marriage with a good deal of money and, somehow, my ex-husband led the love of my life to me.

Emmett hands me an envelope. I don't even look at it, or thank him, simply slipping it into my clutch. He wouldn't dare shortchange me and risk me telling the truth. His powerful father would disinherit him if he found out he'd been fooled.

As soon as they move away, I ask Edward, "What were you two talking about? It looked pretty heavy."

"He said if I don't take care of you, he'll murder me. He also wished me luck, saying he'd never been able to make you happy. You're happy now, aren't you, babe?"

I feed my arms inside his jacket and beam at him. "Deliriously, I adore you."

He wraps his arms around me, relieved. "Thank God. He had me worried for a minute." I shake my head, still smiling at him. "That would have been damn embarrassing when I've just convinced your father that it isn't too soon to ask you to marry me."

"What?" I hold on tight because I suddenly feel weak.

"I'm madly in love with you, Bella. Will you marry me?"

"Of course I'll marry you. I love you too." I can't help myself. In the middle of my ex-husband's wedding, I kiss my fiancé passionately, and I don't care who sees.

With a beaming smile, he announces, "Now we have to go home and tell the kids."

THE END

_**~ xxx ~**_

**Happy birthday, Planetblue.**


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